The Rival
by cactusnell
Summary: John pays Sherlock a visit to talk about Molly's new boyfriend. Sherlolly


Despite the fact that he didn't have to be at the clinic for hours yet, Dr. John Watson had arisen early this Thursday morning to take the tube over to his former residence at 221B Baker Street to have, according to his wife, a long overdue conversation with his ex-roommate and best friend, Sherlock Holmes. The detective had not responded to any of his text messages the previous evening, so he wasn't sure what to expect when he arrived. He knew the man had been working on an important case for the past fortnight, and had only finished up the previous afternoon. Odds are that he had simply crashed into his bed, and had gone into a coma-like state as he was wont to do under such circumstances. This would mean that there was no better than a fifty percent chance that he would actually be awake by the time John arrived at the flat, but the doctor was willing to take that chance rather than listen to his wife continue to pressure him.

John climbed the stairs and let himself into the flat, calling his friend's name. Not in the sitting room, or kitchen. Bath, no. Bedroom, then? Yes, there he was. Sprawled on his bed, with a sheet, and nothing but a sheet, covering only the bare necessities. Sherlock Holmes always slept in the nude, John knew. He was just happy that he had trained the man to wear a dressing gown when he walked about the rest of the flat. Or, maybe, he didn't. Since John no longer lived there, he really had no interest in the subject.

"Sherlock?"

The detective's eyes immediately popped open, indicating that the coma had come to an end, and that he was ready to join the land of the living.

"John. What day is it?" Sherlock inquired.

"Thursday, mate. Get up. I'll make some coffee. According to my wife, we need to talk." John then left the bedroom to scavenge through the pantry in search of the necessary items.

Sherlock appeared in the kitchen a few moments later. He was wearing a dressing gown, so at least John's training was still in force. "To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure, John?"

John sat himself down across the table from his friend, cleared his throat, and placing a cup of coffee in front of each of them, began to speak. Rather uneasily. "Look, mate, I don't think this is really necessary, but Mary…"

Sherlock looked at his friend studiously, noting his discomfort, "Please go on, John. Mary what?"

"Well, Sherlock, my wife wants to know what you're going to do about Molly."

"Why should I be doing anything about Dr. Hooper? And why is Mary concerned?"

"Look, everybody knows that Molly has a thing for you, Sherlock…"

"A thing, John. Please clarify."

"Do I really need to, you git! But Mary seems to think that it is not entirely unrequited, if you get my drift."

"You are drifting a bit far afield there, John. But I do, to some extent, understand what you, or your wife, is trying to say. But why does she assume that?"

"Well, you do spend a lot of time together. At the hospital, or here. You and Molly are at our place virtually every Saturday, fussing over Claire."

"Just because we are mutually interested in our goddaughter, John, does not necessarily mean that we are interested in each other."

"Truth be told, Sherlock, she's right. You are together an awful lot…"

"John, you used to live here. We were together even more. He shared meals. We worked on cases together. We still do. Does this mean you are interested, romantically speaking, in me?" Sherlock smirked across the table and took another sip of John's awful coffee. "If this is the case, you really should have spoken up sooner. Poor Mary will be brokenhearted. Not to mention you, yourself, when I inform you that I do like you, but not _like _you, at least not in that way…"

"Shut up, you bloody prat, and let me get on with this." John was red faced as he continued. "Listen, mate, you do know that Molly evidently has a new boyfriend, right?"

"She hasn't mentioned anything to me, John, but I have deduced that something…"

"Why would she tell you, Sherlock, when for the past several years you have done everything in your power to sabotage every relationship in which she had become involved?"

"I have not sabotaged every relationship, John. Only about eighty percent. The rest, she took care of on her own, being a woman of remarkable intelligence and taste!"

"If you consider her a woman of such remarkable intelligence and taste, Sherlock, why do you doubt her taste in men?"

"Because she is also a woman of overwhelming compassion, with a weakness for the underdog. And you must admit, there have been some dogs among her choices, John!"

"I'm not going to get into a debate about how a banker, a lawyer, or a neurosurgeon could be considered an underdog, Sherlock. Most of Molly's companions have been exemplary…"

"If you don't take into account their personal foibles, John, I'm sure they must look desirable to the untrained eye!"

"Sherlock, for god's sake, she dropped one of them because you told her he didn't wash his hands in the men's loo!"

"Well he didn't! And how was she supposed to find that out on her own?"

John Watson took a deep breath, trying to regather his thoughts. "Anyway, Sherlock, that is neither here nor there. Mary seems to think that you may be harboring some romantic inclinations towards Molly, and she wanted me to warn you about something."

"What?" Sherlock now appeared somewhat interested.

"Just when was the last time you saw Molly? Or spoke to her?"

"It's been a few days. As you know, I have been occupied with this case. She was supposed to come over last night, to help me with an experiment on which we'd been working. But, I suppose I was relatively catatonic when she arrived. Evidently, she couldn't rouse me, and left me a note."

"Wait a minute. She was here last night? In your room? With you lying naked across the bed?"

"Well, I did find her note in my room, so yes, your assumption is correct. But what is the problem. Molly is, after all, a doctor. And one who makes her living cutting up naked bodies. So I am sure that she is more than familiar with male anatomy."

"Dead bodies, you git. And odds are she is not seriously infatuated with any of them!"

"Yes, but haven't you just finished informing me, or trying to inform me, that Molly has a new boyfriend? So, tell me, why does Mary feel it is so important that I know about this new one?"

"Because Molly evidently told her that she wasn't going to make it over to the flat on Saturday, as she is having tea with this man's parents."

"Well, who is this mysterious stranger? Does Mary know?"

"Really, Sherlock, don't you think I would have led with that information if I knew. But Mary seems to believe that meeting the parents indicates that she is quite serious about him. And vice versa. And that if you are at all interested, you should know about this."

Sherlock looked as if he was seriously considering something, but then smiled a bit, and then reached into the pocket of his dressing gown. John was surprised to see him pull out a toe tag, such as used in any morgue to identify corpses. Molly's neat handwriting was on the tag.

**Couldn't wake you. I'm at the lab until four tomorrow. Talk to you then. Molly xxx**

John had to chuckle at the macabre humor of a pathologist using a toe tog to leave the message. Then, an image flashed into his mind of how he had found the detective when he first burst into his bedroom to rouse him. Sherlock had been lying face up across his bed, arms and legs akimbo, with the sheet barely covering his nether parts. His feet dangled from the end of the mattress, and there had been no toe tag in sight.

"Sherlock, you said Molly left this last night. But I just woke you, and there was no tag on your toe then."

Sherlock looked at his friend, and slowly drawled, "I never said it was on my toe, John!"

John almost choked on his coffee, as his friend continued. "Perhaps you and Mary would like to join us for tea at my parents' house on Saturday. I'm sure Claire would enjoy a day in the country." He then rose from his chair. "Shouldn't you be making your way to the hospital soon, John. Wait a moment or two and we can share a cab. Just let me get dressed!"

John Watson was still holding his coffee cup halfway to his mouth, as he thought over the situation. While he was very happy that his friend had finally found someone with whom to share his life, the thought that Mary was once again correct while he had been totally oblivious was a bit galling. He smiled a weak little smile, and decided that there was nothing he could do about it.


End file.
